


Shades of Purple

by CanIGetAHelYeah



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Dance!Lance is my favorite thing, F/M, Gryffindor!Keith, Hogwarts First Year, Hufflepuff!Hunk, Hufflepuff!Lance, I'm overdoing the !!s because it's !!!very!!! exciting!!, Ravenclaw!Veronica, Sibling Love, and some happy sib feels, and then never posted it, just a nervous little lance, might come back to it but probably not, not really klance but i wrote it way back for klance march
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-01-31 17:01:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18595603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CanIGetAHelYeah/pseuds/CanIGetAHelYeah
Summary: Okay, so technically I wrote this based on a Klance March prompt on Tumblr but now I don't even remember what the original prompt was, so...*shrug*Have my Little Lance trash





	Shades of Purple

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so technically I wrote this based on a Klance March prompt on Tumblr but now I don't even remember what the original prompt was, so...*shrug*
> 
> Have my Little Lance trash

Many things come in twos.

 

Life and death. The sun and moon. War and peace. Fire and ice.

 

Lance’s last two brain cells battling for dominance in his skull.

 

One brain cell wanted him to run. Maybe he could make it back to the entrance hall and hide in a suit of armor without anyone noticing. It would be a nice place to live. Safe, private. And best of all, he wouldn’t have to put on that hat. They couldn’t sort you if they couldn’t find you.

 

The other brain cell kept him walking forward, hands twisted so tightly into his new robes that he would have cracked his forehead if he tripped.

 

One look at the Ravenclaw table, and Lance knew he would have to stick it out. Veronica shot him a grin while behind her, Nadia mouthed _you’re doomed,_ smirking. She laughed when she got caught and Veronica slapped her shoulder in scorn. Lance gulped.

 

He looked to the end of the aisle, at the tall and intimidating woman. Nope. Nuh-uh. He lowered his gaze to the choppy mullet in front of him, and that was easier to focus on instead.

 

The source of Lance’s worry was less about what house he would be spending the next seven years in, and more about whether or not he would be spending them in Ravenclaw. His father was a muggle, but his mother had been a Ravenclaw, as had everyone else on her side of the family. He supposed it wouldn’t be _too_ bad if he ended up in Gryffindor, but Lance would have preferred to simply be a Ravenclaw. His grandmother had been devastated with Aunt Elise for being sorted into Gryffindor, and Lance hated the thought of disappointing her. He twisted his robes anxiously. They would be wrinkled and misshapen when he finally released them, but he did it anyway.

 

He didn’t notice that they had reached the end of the aisle. The other first years stopped. Lance did not. Instead, he walked straight into the boy in front of him, who looked like he was not fully awake and nearly toppled over. Lance thought he may have lain there if he had. “Hey!” Mullet hissed, shooting a sleepy-eyed frown over his shoulder.

 

“Sorry,” Lance mumbled.

 

The tall woman had begun speaking, and Lance did his best to pay attention to what she was saying. Something about ‘welcome to Hogwarts’ and an unreasonably long list of banned products. Mullet stifled a yawn and wobbled on his feet. Lance distracted himself with wondering if the boy would fall asleep before he’d been sorted. What would happen in that situation? Could the sorting hat do its sorting if the sortee wasn’t conscious?

 

After what felt like ages (and ages and _ages_ ), the tall woman brought out a stool and a positively ancient, filthy hat. Somebody off to Lance's right muttered, “We're supposed to put that on our _heads_?” Lance had to agree. It looked like birds had nested in it at some point and died there. For all he knew, their bones were still in there somewhere, lost within the many folds that formed something akin to a face.

 

The hat opened its mouth (flapped it's brim? Could that be called a mouth?) and began to sing in a voice that Lance could only compare to the heaviest of smokers, or maybe someone with a terrible throat condition. It prattled on for a good ten minutes before its song ended. It hung idly from the woman's hand, awaiting its first victim of the evening. The tall woman (he really ought to learn her name) cleared her throat theatrically and called the first name, parchment in one hand, hat in the other.

 

“Addison, Ruby!”  A girl shouldered her way out of the group, muttering polite apologies to those she knocked into. She was small, but she made up for it with long, confident strides. Hair the color of red velvet cake swung behind her. The hat had scarcely touched her head before it announced “Slytherin!” The girl grinned, unsurprised, and strode off to join the cheering sea of green.

 

Some people took no time at all. Others took much longer. The hall waited in bated silence for the hat to make a decision.

 

The boy who Lance had met on the train, Hunk, scampered grinningly to the Hufflepuff table, orange headband afly behind him.

 

Mullet, whose name was actually Keith, went to Gryffindor.

 

And then it was Lance's turn.

 

He shot one last tentative look in his sister's direction, who made two thumbs up before the hat fell over his eyes. It smelled like dust bunnies inside the hat.

 

“Well, well, well,” it said. Lance resisted the urge to shiver at the slicing voice, somehow both in his head and in his ear. He didn't much like the way this felt, like his brain was tingling. “You're a real conundrum, aren't you?”

 

“What's that supposed to mean?” Lance asked, offended. He wasn't quite sure what conundrum meant, but it didn't sound very good.

 

“It is a compliment, boy. I don't often meet someone who can be in any house.” The hat hummed to itself in thought. Lance wished the thing would just get it over with already. “No, Ravenclaw won't do. Lots of courage, though. Perhaps… Oh, this is interesting.”

 

“What's 'interesting’?” Lance demanded. Cookies were ‘interesting’. Sharks were 'interesting’. This was _terrifying._ Lance decided them and there that he never wanted to have his brain picked apart again. This was taking entirely too long.

 

“All the ambition of a Slytherin, yes, you would do well there.” Lance tensed, waiting for the hat to declare him a Slytherin. He hated the thought. Gryffindor, he’d been prepared to explain to Abuela. But Slytherin? She’d never let it go. “But that _loyalty_ , and insufferable kindness. No. Better be…”

 

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

 

The bright lights of the Great Hall blinded him as the sorting hat was swept off of Lance’s head. He blinked, disoriented. At the Ravenclaw table, Veronica had jumped onto the bench, cheering with as much ferocity as the entire Hufflepuff table combined.

 

He stumbled to take a seat next to his new friend Hunk, grinning despite himself. It was difficult to be worried when he was surrounded by so many grinning faces, all excited to welcome him. The rest of the sorting passed without many other hitches. 

 

“What was it saying, Lance?” Hunk asked as he loaded up his plate with an insane amount of Eccles cake.

 

Lance froze with a fork full of mac and cheese halfway to his mouth. “What?”

 

“When you were up there, the sorting hat was mumbling something, and you asked it ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ and you sounded kind of offended.”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Lance avoided Hunk’s gaze. He knew exactly what he was talking about, but he did _not_ want to talk about it. Preferably ever.

 

Lance pushed aside thoughts of his grandmother long enough to enjoy the feast. He talked excitedly about sharks in between bites of turkey and something that tasted like _magic_ , that’s it, just magic. Hunk told him that it was actually a special bread that his mum often made for him, but Lance could hardly think around the incredibility of it. Whatever it was, it transcended words.

 

He tackled Veronica as soon as he was out of the Great Hall. The sea of students parted around them, most of them caught in their own conversations. One burly boy almost tripped over him, though, and tossed a glare over his shoulder. Lance heard Nadia shout “Get out of the road!” Veronica was laughing.

 

He managed a small smile, but with nothing left to distract him, Lance's mind swarmed with worries about what Grandmother would say. The tie around his neck hadn't been tied to begin with, and yet somehow the yellow and black seemed to tighten around his throat and clog his vision. Veronica's robes tightened in his hands.

 

"Do you think Abeula will be mad?" His voice is muffled into her shirt, because he isn't quite at Veronica's shoulder yet. This put him at the perfect height for his head to be comfortably used as a drum, which his sister had never turned down an opportunity for.

 

Sometimes Lance hated it. Other times, the tapping of nails on the crown of his head was the most comforting thing he could think of. The familiar rhythm laced through his bones. Lance's foot tapped of its own accord. Pure habit coaxed a thumping hum from his throat. His grip on Veronica’s robes slackened, lulled into relaxation by a song he knew as well as he knew his own name. The telltale melody of home tugged upward at his lips until they yielded.

 

“She’ll get over it,” Veronica said, using his head as a full on drum now, even as he finally emerged from her shoulder. “You’ve never been one for following the rules, anyway.”

 

Well, she was right about that. Rules and Lance had been at war nearly since day one.

 

 He would probably be okay. It wasn't as if Abuela was the dramatic type. The worst that had happened even to Aunt Elise had been a few months of stink eyes, and a plethora of creepy stuffed lions. He would just be getting a lot more yellow... everything at Christmas. Maybe she would just set a few badgers loose in the house and move on. Or hand him random lemons at inconvenient times. Abuela had a strange sense of justice.

 

Veronica smiled and dropped her hands. "Good luck finding your common room, shrimp."

 

And with that, she took off, cackling evilly. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm pretty sure Veronica is Lance's little sister in canon, but honestly, I don't care. I ignore plenty of other things that happened in canon. That disaster has no power over me anymore.
> 
> And if that ending feels weird to you, believe me, I know. I had a different ending in mind when I started this but then I didn't write it down and I forgot it. Might fix it later when I get a better idea or remember the old one. 
> 
> I'm mostly happy with it though.


End file.
